


Two Of A Crime

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abusive Parents, Anxiety, Blood, Criminal AU, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incomplete, Jack is actually insane, Kinda, M/M, Mark is attached to his axe, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Songfic, Violence, a lot of it, chica Fischbach - Freeform, chica is happy, suicide referances, the boys need help, very brief mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mark murders for the thrill.Jack just killed for the first time.Will they make a good team or simply kill each other?Based off the song Two Of A Crime by Perma





	1. Introduction

Mark looked out the hotel room window and sighed. His hit was successful but there just wasn’t the same thrill this time. Usually the joy of the kill outweighed the tedious task of cleaning up and making sure that while he didn’t get caught, but not this time. Speaking of which, he had an axe to clean. It was his signature weapon. Anytime the police found a murder of a single man done with an axe, they knew it was him. It’s not that he hated men, not at all, but an unattached man’s mysterious death usually got less publicity than a woman’s. The water ran red as Mark absentmindedly sang while cleaning his axe. The sound of his voice drowned out the sound of angry footsteps in the hall.


	2. Jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creative uses of oven mitts

“Aren’t you too old to be crying?” The words echoed through the room as Jack sobbed into his hands. He looked up and stared at his mother, the reason he was crying. He was tired. Tired of being ignored unless he made mistakes. Tired of being insulted. Tired of having his thoughts and feelings invalidated. “Well? Answer me, you fucking coward,” Jack barely heard the words as he slowly shifted off his bed and approached his parent. Blue eyes turned steely as he reached forward and wrapped his hand around her neck. Time blurred and all Jack could hear was his own heartbeat until his mother lay on the floor, bruises already forming on her neck. Jack’s rational side argued that he should get rid of the body so there wasn’t any evidence against him, but this new, cold, violent side of him argued that she didn’t even deserve a burial, or even a cremation. In a twisted compromise between the two, he put on gloves and cut off her head from the base of her neck and throwing it into the fire pit outside. He light her hair and left her too burn.

Although he planned to clean up the blood, he felt a certain sense of pride in the amount spilled on the floor. In a split second decision he grabbed a jar and carefully spooned some into a jar. And then it fully hit him. He had killed his own fucking mother, and he was proud. He let out a scream, more of confusion than anything else, and pulled at his hair until the blood on the floor was dry and he was calm enough to examine the situation. He needed to leave. That much was obvious. But where too? He had no remaining family and no close friends. As he stuffed random clothes into his suitcase he thought that maybe he should just start over? Move to a new country, get a crappy job and live an average life, leaving all this behind him. Yeah, he told himself that was the plan, but to an observer it would be obvious he didn’t really mean it when he carefully packed the jar of blood next to his favorite jeans.

 

 

 

A pounding on Mark’s door ripped him out of his thoughts, pissing him off. He angrily marched to the door and threw it open, ignoring the look of surprise on the visitor’s face. “Can I help you?” His greeting was calm and smooth, a complete juxtaposition to his facial expressions and body language.

 

“Yeah you can, assbag,” The visitor growled, recovering from their surprise. “You’re singing too loud and stepping too heavily on the floor; me and my dog can’t sleep!” Mark looked the visitor up and down, taking a mental inventory. They looked to be about 26, chubby with no muscles. Single, masculine presentation. The ideal target, and they were out of luck. 

 

Mark was coming of his high from his last kill and was craving more. He smirked at the boy and muttered, “Yeah, you can.” before reaching forward and tugging on the visitors shirt collar. “I think I’ll call you…” the visitor gazed in terror at the man above him as he thought, “Norton. I’ve never met a Norton, and I’ve always wanted to! So, hello Norton!” During his last sentence Mark leaned towards the boy’s right ear, and as a cruel form of punctuation, he ripped off his earlobe with his teeth before spitting the piece of flesh into his victim’s face. The visitor looked frozen in horror, a look that Mark enjoyed immensely. A twisted and bloody grin adorned his face as he reached behind his victim and closed the door quietly before very gently guiding the boy to the desk. It was obvious he wasn’t going to put up much of a fight, which was a little disappointing. Keeping his eyes on his “guest”, Mark grabbed his revolver, an oven mitt, a pad of paper, and a pen from the drawer. A strange assortment of items for a hotel room drawer, but Mark has been laying low here for a while, and each item had a purpose. He was going to try something new that he hadn’t had the chance for yet. Two small sounds reverberated through the room as he dropped the pen and paper in front of his victim. “Now, you’re going to write exactly what I say, and if you don’t, I am going to shoot you,” As the barrel of the revolver pressed against his temple, the visitor opened his mouth, seeming to regain his wits, before Mark clamped a hand over his mouth. “I already know what you’re going to say. Either you were going to beg for mercy or tell me that people would hear the shot. Well, mercy isn’t really my thing, and I have this,” Mark lifted the oven mitt, “to quiet the shot! If I put it right between your head and the barrel, the shot will barely sound like anything.” The cold metal of the gun barrel was replaced with the cotton of the oven mitt, but the visitor didn’t find any comfort in that fact. 

 

Six minutes later, the visitor was out of Mark’s hotel room, a note in his pocket and blood in his hair. In the morning Mark watched the news, as he always did to see how the other well-known serial killers were doing. The top story on the local station was about a suicide off of one of the balconies in a local hotel. The story was pretty standard, the deceased had a note in his pocket and everything, but there was one point of interest. There was an unexplainable injury on his right ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a songfic oneshot. I'm not even to the part inspired by the song, oops.


	3. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is completely Jack and his new start

Jack had never felt so _alive_. He suddenly realized how much power he held in his hands, he could tip the balance of life and death with his slim fingers. The passengers around him on the plane could too, but they didn’t know it. They would probably never know the thrill he had felt, the high of having so much control over another person's mortality. At first glance, Jack seemed unchanged. His laugh had the same vibrancy, he made the same stupid little jokes, he still treated every person he met with respect. But if you looked close, you could see that his blue eyes were more like steel than the sky, his smile was a bit crazier, and even if you was polite to everyone outwardly, on the inside he was sizing them up, imagining what their blood looks like on his fingers or if they’re the kind of person who would beg for mercy, fight back, or simply accept their fate if he attacked them right then and there. His plane was headed for the US. Jumping right into another country with no guaranteed job, no knowledge of the local customs, and next to no money wasn’t ideal, but Jack was desperate to leave his past behind him. With a dead brother, a dad who left when he was the ripe age of 7 and an abusive mother, his family history wasn’t the happiest. Maybe it wasn’t his mom’s fault she made him feel like shit, maybe she thought she was doing her best. It must be hard to be a single mom to a anxious 24-year-old who still lives at home. Maybe she thought she was helping. No. NO. There is no way that anyone in their right mind thought that slapping their child, calling them worthless and a coward and a failure was going to help them. Giving your child black eyes if they have panic attacks is in no way going to help. Ignoring your son for weeks on end because they bring home a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend is abusive. But he was free. No more black eyes, no more insults, no more hiding who he loved. A slightly crooked smile lingered on Jack’s face as he slept for the first time since the death, thoughts of freedom still on his mind. The jostling of the airplane landing is what woke Jack up from his sleep, and his grin renewed itself. He was here! The soonest flight he could find was to Cincinnati, so that’s where he was. A new country, a new city, a new start. As soon as Jack exited the airport, he let out a short loud laugh of joy, attracting the interest of several passerby. However, after a warning glance from Jack, the quickly went on their way. Half an hour later, Jack was checking into a nearby hotel. He got a suite cheap, because apparently the hotel wasn’t getting good business lately. Something about a recent suicide? It didn’t matter to him. A warm shower and a bottle of whisky later, he was asleep on the couch with a rerun of Hanna Montana on in the background. Unbeknownst to him, the man in the room next to his was sleeping with an axe under his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr! The url is ineedsomedeepdeepspace and I will be taking prompts there!


	4. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explination

I would like to apologize. I have had a lot stuff going on in my life and simply haven't had the time or inspiration to write the full next chapter of this story. It is on it's way though, and the boys finally meet in it! I feel awful that I stopped uploading chapters for so long so early in the story.  
On another note, I would like to say to anyone American who feels alone or afraid or undervalued since Trump's inauguration, that my inbox is always open. I will not necessarily be able to help you, but I can be there for you to talk to, and maybe get you in contact with someone who can help you. If you want to contact me, my tumblr is ineedsomedeepdeepspace.

And as a reward for sticking with me, here is a preview of the next chapter!

At about three in the morning on a cold Saturday, Chica woke him with scratching and whining; she obviously needed to go outside. He smiled indulgently and attached his makeshift leash, an old, fraying piece of rope, to her collar and led her into the hallway, only making it a few feet before stopping. The door next to his was wide open, and he could hear soft sniffing from inside. There wasn’t much of a choice as of whether to investigate, because Chica was eagerly dragging him through the open door, and who would he be if he didn’t respect her wishes?

 

There is an explanation of how Mark got Chica, but this is more interesting. :)


	5. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took way too long and I'm not very proud of it, but here is is!

Mark was happy. It wasn’t an unfamiliar emotion, just one he hadn’t felt in a long time. Power, anger, satisfaction, and occasionally loneliness made up his usual emotions. But this morning, he had a dog! About a week ago, a day after he remembered his victim mentioning he had a dog, he snuck into his room and led the dog to his own room. Animals were the only kind of creatures he could tolerate, because they were pure, they couldn’t be tainted the same way humans could be; they couldn’t hurt as much as people could. So he spent a few hours getting to know the dog, a friendly and fluffy golden retriever he had named Chica. 

At about three in the morning on a cold Saturday, Chica woke him with scratching and whining; she obviously needed to go outside. He smiled indulgently and attached his makeshift leash, an old, fraying piece of rope, to her collar and led her into the hallway, only making it a few feet before stopping. The door next to his was wide open, and he could hear soft sniffing from inside. There wasn’t much of a choice as of whether to investigate, because Chica was eagerly dragging him through the open door, and who would he be if he didn’t respect her wishes?

Mark was met with the messiest hotel room he had ever seen. And he had disemboweled someone using a butter knife in a 3 star motel. (That might be a bit of an exaggeration.) The floor was covered in clothes and discarded candy wrappers to the point that Chica’s paws were sinking about three inches into the floor a she dragged him farther into the room. Sudden sobbing from the singular bed in the suite dragged his eyes from the clutter on the floor to a small figure hunched over himself on the aforementioned bed. All Mark could make out in the unlit room was a silhouette of slim shoulders and a small amount of messy hair. A general sense of distress emanated from the figure, and Mark couldn’t help but feel bad for them. They radiated uncertainty, fear, and another emotion Mark couldn’t quite put his finger on. However, he couldn’t contemplate it for long, as Chica had dragged him all the way to the side of the bed now, and it would be polite to apologize to the stranger, who still seemed to be off in his own world.

“Hey there stranger,” Mark said softly, gingerly resting his hand on the figure’s slim shoulder. “You ok?” There was no verbal response to his inquiry, but the stranger shook his head slowly. “Anything I can do to help?” As if he was going to help. Even if he felt bad for this person, he had the feeling that he would have a lot of fun torturing this one after he gained their trust.

“No you can’t fucking help. I’m broken, I messed up, I just couldn’t control myself, I- I-” Mark cut of the strangers quiet but intense and obviously Irish rambling by sitting down next to him, Chica quickly hopping up onto his lap.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down buddy. Let’s take this slowly ok? We introduce ourselves, you tell me your problem, and then we can pet my dog and cheer up,” Mark silently added a few more sentences to his statement; mostly just ramblings about how fun it was to kill people who trusted you, because the fire of betrayal in their eyes was somehow satisfying. “Sound like a plan?” The stranger nodded and turned to face him. He was silent for a few moments while he took some deep breaths and seemed to gather himself. A soft but strong voice broke through Mark’s thoughts of breakfast as the stranger spoke.

“Hi, I’m Jack.” His voice sounded like the light blue sky on a summer afternoon to Mark, who looked up from his lap to finally see this stranger’s face. And god, was he glad he did. With eyes the color of his voice and patchy stubble, a plump lip caught between his teeth with what must be nervousness and messy, mousey, brown hair that obviously needed to be washed and brushed, he was easily the most beautiful person Mark had ever had the pleasure to meet. Maybe he wouldn’t leave this one to bleed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the ending seems abrupt, there will be another chapter about their meeting and then every chapter will take place after a time skip. And as always, my tumblr is ineedsomedeepdeepspace, I take requests (any ship, not just septiplier), and I'm open to suggestions about the future of this fic.


	6. Two of a crime?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took way to long but the boys get some truth out of their system.

He finally calmed himself down enough to look up at the stranger with the dog and say, “Hi, I’m Jack.” Immediately after his words, a blush formed on his cheeks because of the way this person was looking at him. It was hungry, almost like he was a starving man and Jack was a buffet.

 

“I’m Mark.” His voice sounded like a deep red satin and his small smile seemed like it could create galaxies. Jack’s jaw dropped a bit as he took in Mark’s deep brown eyes, tan skin, and strong jaw. In this moment, he was everything Jack didn’t know he needed. Violent thoughts filled his head, thoughts of blood in that shiny black hair, his beautiful face marred with cuts,-

 

“Do you wanna come back to my room? It’s right next door and it’s a lot… cleaner.” Jack knew that he shouldn’t trust this man. But I mean, he has a dog, how bad could he be? He simply nodded and slowly pushed himself off the mattress, following Mark to the room right next door. “Oh, ummm don’t mind the axe,” Jack started as he realized that there was, in fact, a quite beautiful axe laying under the pillow of the singular bed in the room, and looked at Mark for reassurance. He knew it was weird to look at the man with the axe for comfort but something about him drew Jack in like a moths to a flickering street light on warm summer nights. “Jackie?” Mark’s voice rang slightly through the room as Jack looked up at him. “What are you holding?” His blood ran cold as he remembered why he was crying in the first place. Deep, thick, red liquid filled the jar he hadn’t let go of; his mother’s blood sat lukewarm in his hands. “Is that blood? It better not be yours, I-” 

 

Jack’s hand flew to his mouth as Mark spoke. What he had done finally registered, and he was horrified. Not about what he did, but because he was  _ proud _ . Looking up at Mark, his hand fell from his mouth and a sinister grin spread across his face. 

 

“Yes. It’s my ma’s. She was a bitch so I killed her.” Small giggles escaped him as he went on, “I just wrapped my hands around her neck and squeezed! And I kept some of her blood to, I’m not quite sure. And if you tell anyone, you’ll end up like her!” His voice developed a sing-song quality towards the end.” A quick examination of Mark’s face told him that he looked not at all perturbed by this crazy, patricidal Irishman. In fact, he looked almost satisfied, or relieved. 

  
Mark sighed happily and looked quickly at the axe on his bed. “Jackie, dear, I kill people for fun. I used to be I hired killer, working for drug money. But look at me now, getting high on the light draining out of people’s faces. I don’t care that you killed your mom. In fact, I’m glad. I haven’t had a partner in crime for a while, and you’re just the right combination of crazy and cute to make the cut.” He reached out his hand to the blue-eyed man and smiled. “Two of a crime?” Jack’s giggles filled the room, less crazy this time, as he took the satin man’s hand and pulled him in to bite that smile off of his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we can finally explore their lives as felons in the next chapters!


	7. Announcement

I regret to inform you guys that I will not be continuing this story, mostly because I haven't watched Jack in a while and also because of Mark's obvious attempts to kill septiplier. However, I do love this story. If you want me to continue it with different characters, tell me in the comments or my tumblr @ ineedsomedeepdeepspace. Its been fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is appreciated!


End file.
